Carrying Fate
by Sethera
Summary: I could have ended up in any other body, and I would have been fine. Being reborn as Cloud Strife, savior of the Planet, and the only fighter who could match Sephiroth? I would rather have stayed dead. Unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards, and now I have to figure out how to avert the crisis that I know is coming, all the while keeping myself alive in the process. Self-Insert
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners (Square, Square Enix, etc). The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended._

 _Warning: Depictions of violence and death as well as swearing. Same old, same old for FFVII._

* * *

 _ **Carrying Fate**_

 **Prologue**

I never expected to be anything other than what I was.

What I mean by that is, I was born as myself, lived as myself, and died as myself. And then, I figured what would await me was an afterlife as myself.

The last day of my life had been a typical school day before a stranger barged into the classroom.

I went to a large university, so it wasn't surprising that I had never seen him before. Still, he looked like any other person I would pass in the hallways. Floppy brown hair and brown eyes, wearing glasses similar in style to mine. Instead of a book tucked under his arm, though, he held an assault rifle.

The professor seemed to recognize him, calling him by name and urging him to put down the gun, but it seemed the boy had a vendetta against her, because he raised the gun and with an ear-splitting _bang_ , our teacher collapsed onto her desk, leaking blood from a wound in her head.

It took a second for us, her students, to register what was going on, and then all was pandemonium.

I remember running, pressed in amidst a squeeze of other bodies. One brave kid charged at the attacker, but that just caused him to panic and fire willy-nilly at the crowd.

The person in front of me fell over, and suddenly I was staring straight into the shooter's eyes. They were wide and scared, like a wild animal. Mine were probably the same. The next second, I felt the most unbearable pressure, and then pain, in my stomach.

I've never been good with pain, and this wasn't any different. I couldn't think, couldn't stop myself from collapsing to the floor, holding my stomach, wondering if I'd survive, or if I'd die before I could get medical attention. Then, I felt shoes stomping over my figure, squeezing the breath from my lungs. I heard more gunshots, and then I passed out. Whether that was from the pain, loss of blood, or the trampling my body went through, I have no idea. All I know is, in those few moments before unconsciousness, my last thoughts were of my friends. _God, they're going to be so sad…if they live._

I never did find out how that day ended. I assumed it went like most of those times do, though. A few more shootings, and then the person suicides before they can be brought in, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.

I was just one of the many that died that day.

.

I never expected to wake up to anything less than the golden gates. Or a pit of fire and brimstone, though I had tried my best to live a good life, so I hoped that wouldn't be the case.

Instead, I woke up to nothingness. I couldn't feel anything. Couldn't see anything. Sometimes I could hear, though. Muffled noises from all around.

I don't know how long I sat there like that. Enough to think over the trauma of dying, and reconcile myself with it. If this peaceful nothingness was what waited after death, then maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Sure, I had hoped I might meet some people who had gone before me, but…perhaps the afterlife was individual. If so, it was lonely, though the voices I could hear made me wonder if I was being prepared for the _real_ afterlife. If this was just limbo. I couldn't help but move around a bit, eager to finally join the others, anything so I wouldn't be _alone_.

Suddenly there was an unbearable pressure all around me. Like I was being squeezed through a tube. It was painful, horrifying, and terrifying all at the same time. I had no idea what was happening, except that, maybe, this was how people entered the afterlife? All I could discern was that eventually it ended, and I could _see_.

You don't know how wonderful it is to see unless you've gone without for a while. Most people only experience this after a night of sightlessness, but I had lacked sight for so long, I had started to give up on it. So…this sudden knowledge that there was light, there was _life_ , was enough to make me cry.

Well, life after death, anyway.

Still, it was far too bright for someone whose eyes had grown adjusted to the dark. I immediately closed them, but voices still filtered into my ears.

I blacked out soon after I heard one woman speak in loving tones. _Heaven's so cold,_ I thought, shivering. _But the people are warm._

.

My first year passed in a haze of monotony. I didn't feel _all there_ , and it took a month before I could register anything beyond light and movement. I could hear, however, but comprehension was another thing. It sounded like it could be English, but my brain couldn't put two and two together to get four. Though I knew enough to know this wasn't heaven after all. For one, I could feel pain. For two, wouldn't I be able to _see_ if it were?

By the time a few months had passed, I could see color. By the time a year had, I could make out a blonde woman who was clucking over me as if she were my mother, and an older male with red hair standing by. I suppose it was a good thing I was so out of it, or I would have panicked more. As it was, I tolerated their ministrations with poor grace. I would have put up more of a fuss, but they were so much _bigger_ than me. It was a bit intimidating, being around giants.

I'm ashamed to say it took until my first birthday for me to figure out what was going on. I had dismissed the rattle and stuffed wolf as a mockery on their part, had even ignored the teething. It's interesting, how we can be so determined to see things a certain way, that we become blind to the evidence. But sitting there, staring at a small cupcake with a single candle embedded in it, I couldn't deny the truth anymore.

The reason those people were so big? They weren't big; I was just small. The reason I had trouble seeing, moving, or thinking? I was a baby, so of course I was having problems.

I was a baby. I can't emphasize that enough. I had died a junior at university, newly twenty-one, and was reborn as a baby. A _male_ baby.

The discovery wasn't as terrible as it might have been for other females. I wasn't trans, but I had never really _liked_ being a woman. Not because of any sexual orientation, but because it had never really felt _right_ being labeled as one and being treated the way I had based off that label. My psyche had always been more masculine than feminine. So being reborn male? Not bad at all, especially since I wouldn't have to deal with periods, but rather voice-cracking and morning wood.

Oh. That would be _awkward_. I hadn't possessed a libido in my past life, and I could only hope that would cross over too. With my luck, though, that wouldn't happen, and I would have to deal with teenage hormones. Joy.

As to my parents… Unlike most of the stories I'd read describing similar situations, there had never been any love lost between my former parents and me. So there wasn't any of that agony of "Oh these people aren't my _real_ parents." But, I had gone most of my life relying on my father for affection before he gave up on me, so suddenly becoming confronted with a mother figure…well; I didn't know how to handle it.

How could I, when both my mother and stepmother had shown just how little they cared about anybody but themselves? And the others, mothers of friends, had drawn an invisible line between them and myself. I was _somebody else's problem._ Not theirs. Over time, I had just grown to accept that. But this woman, she seemed to have an endless well of patience, endless smiles, endless hugs, and I could feel the love shining off her in waves. In short, she was the kind of mother I had always dreamed of.

And my father…he was the same. Just as loving, just as kind. It took me longer to warm up to him, but eventually I would beam with just as much happiness at seeing him as I did my mother, waving my arms to be picked up with a happy gurgle. And he always did, spinning me around in the air like a helicopter. Flying like that, made me both happy and sad at the same time. They were so caring, so affectionate. But they also forced me to realize just how deficient my old family was, and I was reluctant to accept that. Still, I couldn't help but bask in this newfound warmth.

.

Things improved quickly after that. Not only could I see better, but I now knew what was going on, so that took away a lot of my anxiety. But without that worry to keep me occupied… Well, it was boring. I had already learned to crawl and walk before I even turned a year old, so at least I had a wider range of movement, but what I could do was still very limited. Thankfully, this body couldn't handle much exercise without the impulse to nap, so I didn't have too many times where I just stood there, bored out of my mind. My parents spared a lot of time and attention for me, so that helped too.

Eventually, I realized a few things.

One. These people _did_ speak English, so wherever I was, it was still an English-speaking country. However, they had an accent I couldn't place, and often peppered their dialogue with odd-sounding words I'd never heard before.

Two. My name was Cloud. Why my mother named me this, I had no idea. Either she was a diehard Final Fantasy fan, or she was still a bit high on painkillers when she chose it. Or maybe she was one of those people that named their children after nouns, like Brook or Jay. Or she just liked the name. Who knows?

Three. My mother's name was Skye while my father's was John. So, another reason for my odd name could be she wanted ours to go together, like bookends. My brother in my past life had had a similar name to mine for that very reason. It was too bad my father's didn't match as well.

I have to say, I had hopes about this new life. It seemed like it would be a vast improvement over my old one. I had loving parents, wouldn't have to deal with female puberty, and I had a leg up over others in terms of knowledge. Unless everybody in this world had memories of their past life. I would have to figure that out. Maybe I would meet a few people who I had known before.

I soon figured out that I was an anomaly. My parents never mentioned anything of a past life; though I held out hope that it was just a taboo subject. But they never treated me as anything more than a toddler. Granted, a curious and impatient one, but most toddlers were like that.

It was nice, living like that. Except for the whole diaper thing. That was humiliating, and there had been multiple times I had held back on that because of embarrassment and not liking the feeling of sitting in my waste. Eventually, I had to give in, but I usually started crying not long after to get my parents' attention.

I couldn't wait for when they would decide to "potty-train" me.

Thankfully, by the time I started getting more awareness, I had moved past milk and into solid food. I had hazy memories of having a nipple shoved in my face before, but they were vague enough I could usually just ignore them, and the unease I felt toward my mother afterward.

In terms of speaking and moving, regular baby milestones, I had already started walking a long time ago, but my parents were worried because I was almost two, yet hadn't even spoken my first word yet.

That had been out of fear, fear of these giant monsters that could crush me without a moment's notice. But, now that I was gaining more awareness, was processing more beyond emotions and unintelligible syllables, I could try speaking.

It took a while, to get my mouth used to making intelligible sounds again. I had almost forgotten how to speak, but I eventually got it just enough to say "Mama" and "Dada."

Their expressions, mirror images of joy and relief, made all that effort worthwhile.

.

My parents weren't social butterflies, but they did have friends. Sometimes, my father would invite over a couple of his buddies, who worked at the same place he did, which was a reactor of sorts. They all made sure to stay well away from me, though, and my past knowledge was enough for me to realize that they must have been working around something dangerous. Uranium, perhaps?

My mother had a couple friends, but she was closest to this one woman named Rachel. It was Rachel she introduced me to first. It was Rachel who she asked to watch over me while she went out shopping for necessities. And it was Rachel who actually gazed at me with genuine warmth in her eyes, unlike the other ladies who cooed over me while Mother was watching, and then quickly turned away when she wasn't, more intent on gossiping or socializing between themselves.

Rachel also had a daughter a year younger than I was, so I was often paired with little Tifa, a fuzzy-headed baby who liked to drool on her teething ring while our mothers chatted. By now, I had decided that both of them _must_ be extreme Final Fantasy fans, as this was a bit too much to be a coincidence.

It was only at age two, after I heard my father complain about "Shinra's lack of safety procedures," and mention of "Nibelheim" over and over again, that I put it together. It didn't help that, soon after, I was finally old enough to be taken outside, where I saw a _very_ familiar well and mansion. Nor did it when someone hailed my mother as "Mrs. Strife." My parents and their friends called each other by first name, so I had never actually _heard_ our family name before.

I had been reborn in the Final Fantasy VII universe.

Not only that, but I had reborn as _Cloud Strife_.

I would have been better off staying dead.

* * *

Title is still pending. I might change it later, but for now, it works.

I decided to start a new story, this one an actual self-insert rather than an OC-insert, as I've grown more comfortable with myself as a person and less paranoid about writing myself.

So, this story was made when I was thinking about how people bash on characters for not doing enough. Like, "If only Cloud hadn't been such a failure, this wouldn't have happened." But honestly, I think Cloud did a pretty bang-up job, considering what he had to work with, and what he was working against. I also know I would never want to stand in his shoes-er, boots. So of course, I decided to make that happen.

There are similar stories out there, a favorite of mine being _Weight of the World_ by Tsume Yuki, which I recommend reading. But I've actually had this story idea in the works for a while, long before I even came across them. It was only just now that I decided to actually write for it.


	2. Chapter I

**Chapter I**

I think I handled the news fairly well, all things considered. I didn't scream, cry, or fly into a temper. I sent a toothy smile to the woman who had revealed my surname to me, this Mrs. Coburn, as my mother introduced her. I waved at the people who passed by, and tried not to hide behind my mother's skirts when I saw the Shinra Manor.

It was lovely. Truly the fanciest place in all Nibelheim, for what that was worth. Two-storied, with cold marble sides and twin domed towers flanking a pillared entryway like guard dogs. The windows were a mixture of picture and lancet, and the walkway was paved in dizzying geometric patterns.

And yet, all I could think was, _There's a man in the basement. There's a man in the basement._

I was a nervous wreck by the time my mother and I arrived home, and I immediately busied myself with a picture book, one my mother had read when she was a little girl, and had kept all this time.

At least, I could pretend to read, while in reality I thought things over.

First off. I was Cloud effing Strife. Savior of Gaia, averter of Meteor, the only man who could equal Sephiroth. He was a badass in so many ways, and me? I was a regular college student, somebody who was fairly intelligent, but also oblivious and paranoid. I was in no way, shape, or form ready to handle what was in store for me. For Cloud.

Sure, I had some martial arts and fencing experience. But I was nowhere near a master in either, and Cloud had been a master of both. Or at least swordfighting, which, another thing, the fencing style was so different from zanbatou-style swordfighting it wasn't even funny. In fact, it would probably hamper more than help, in my case.

And who's to say I'd even go that route? Who's to say I wouldn't just decide to live a normal life at Nibelheim? Maybe become a greengrocer or something. Or a courier. But oh. Couriers would have to learn how to fight anyway.

But…if I _didn't_ decide to go Cloud's route…then what would happen? Would that mean that the world would end? Would me not doing anything…deprive this planet of its hero?

I hyperventilated for a moment, and I was glad my mother had busied herself with making lunch, so she wouldn't see my panicked expression. Wait…mother. That was _Cloud's_ mother standing there in front of the crude stove. This was _Cloud's_ house I was standing in, scuffed flooring and all.

And in fourteen years, none of this would be here anymore. Oh sure, it would be reconstructed later, and filled in with a fake who would profess to having lived there all her life, but it wouldn't be _home_.

And how was I even supposed to handle the fact that I had virtually taken over Cloud's body? The real Cloud, he was gone. There was only me, a fake, in his place. I had taken his life, his parents, and his home, everything from him. I would've said I was worse than Sephiroth or Hojo combined, but the two of them had taken all that too.

I felt worse than scum.

Suddenly, a bowl of food was set in front of me. I gazed closer at the glazed surface, at the surroundings, and noticed something I hadn't ever paid attention to before.

Everything was _ancient_. I mean, I came from a society with smartphones and gaming systems, and here we had a gas stove you had to start up with a match, and dishes you washed by hand. Well, I had washed my own dishes back home too, but most people that weren't poor college students had a working dishwasher. I had figured my parents were just poor or valued tradition, but no…

Wasn't the game's setting some industrial era just recently moving on from coal and steam?

Which meant…the _reactor_. The place where my father worked…that was…Nibelheim's reactor. The place where Tifa's father died, where Sephiroth fell, and where he found Jenova…

 _Jenova_.

"You look like you're thinking hard there," a soft, warm voice brought me out of my musings. Glancing up, I saw my—no _Cloud's_ mother. "Gil for your thoughts?"

I blanked my face automatically, a defense mechanism inherited from my past life. "Ahh…not much," I mumbled. "Just wondering who lives in that big building." It was murder to hold myself back from my full vocabulary, but I didn't want to sound like an adult in a child's body. The times I did slip up, I blamed on my father's coworkers.

"Oh…" my mo—Skye's smile slipped from her face. "No, nobody lives there." And didn't _that_ say a lot. Her eyes shifted from side to side, as if paranoid she'd be overheard. What rumors circulated the town about the famed Shinra Manor?

We ate a quiet lunch consisting of a bowl of soup with some sort of meat stock and rice, as well as cheese and an unknown brown root. It was good, hearty, like most of the food here. Unlike back home, grains, meats, and cheeses were common, while fruits and vegetables were pretty rare. They also had a liking for slathering butter on just about everything.

It was amazing, just how much more I could _see_ , now that I _knew_. Hindsight is 20/20, though. What I had passed off as curiosities became extremely relevant. The pack of alcohol labeled "Turtle's Paradise?" Hadn't there been a bar in Wutai with that name? I remembered it because it had been a long side quest with an easily missed poster in Shinra Headquarters. My father complaining about how hard it was to get the mako off? I had just thought he was working with sharks somehow, but mako was liquid Lifestream. And what about the front page I had seen? Granted, we only got newspapers once a month, but it had shown a blurry picture of Midgar, hadn't it? I had mused on the similar design before moving on to the more important business of food.

Man, I was really oblivious. Not that it mattered that much. Even if I had known earlier, what good would it have done? No, I would have been just as screwed as I was now.

After lunch, m—Skye patted me on the cheek. "My little thinker," she murmured fondly, before taking my bowl along with hers to wash.

Thinker, huh? What good was thinking if I couldn't think up a way out of this? _Think Cloud, think._

 _Cloud_. I had grown used to the name, wore it like a second skin. It had symbolized my new life here, in this world, with a loving, happy family. My old name had been cast aside. For one, I had never really liked it; never really felt it represented _me_. But _Cloud_. The drifting cloud. It could change form from wispy cirrus to puffy cumulus to stormy stratus. Its every facet determined by its surroundings, yet solidly in place in the sky even as it tested the edges of its boundaries, spilling rain and lightning to reach where it couldn't.

There had been something poetic about that, but now I could only see it as a _stolen_ name. It was never meant to be mine, was only ever meant to be _his_.

I couldn't help coming back to that point with every thought. More troubling than my capacity to fool myself was the fact I had _stolen_ a life already. I had already taken a life from somebody who deserved it far more than I did. Cloud Strife had never even had a chance to live yet. I had had my time, heck, I had been ready to face whatever afterlife awaited me, but fate had decided differently.

Unless, I _was_ Cloud. Unless Cloud had always been me, and I had never realized. Maybe he had just never revealed his past life to anybody else, but in actuality…

No. I couldn't let myself think like that, or I'd go insane. Cloud was his own person, and I was my own. Yes, my name was now Cloud Strife, which, by the way, was my full name. Middle names didn't exist in this world for some reason.

It was still difficult wrapping my mind around, to be honest. That the Cloud I was…was the same Cloud the video game character was. Except we weren't, the same that is. I suppose it would have been easier to accept had I had a more common name in my past life. I would have been used to sharing it with others. Except, this was different. Because we didn't _just_ share a name. We shared a body, a home, a mother, a father, and, possibly, a destiny.

Perhaps, it'd be easier to handle if I treated this like a separate dimension? Yes, in one dimension, Cloud had been a video game character with no memories of a past life. In this one, he just had memories of a different life, and he happened to be me. Yeah. Easy as pie.

I buried my head in my hands. No. This wasn't going to be easy at _all_.

.

Despite my early-life crisis, life went on. I "learned" to read and write, though honestly, reacquainting myself with writing was harder than I thought. My hands were fat and clumsy, and it was frustrating, remembering a past life with fairly dexterous fingers. It would take a while to build them up to the same level again.

I also decided to explore the house to the utmost extent. You might guess I was familiarizing myself with the place as much as I could, now that I knew it could disappear, years down the road, but… Well, I _was_ doing that, but I was also hiding. Hiding from the outside world, from my life, from this whole ordeal.

I had never been good at being proactive. Whenever I read stories about people being dropped into another world, they had always seemed so…determined. As if lit by a fire from within. I had no such fire. I was a coward, and had never been particularly ambitious. About the extent of my ambitions had been finding myself a cozy cottage, acquiring a few pets, and growing myself a garden. A place where I could relax and enjoy the natural world.

When I had been reborn into this world, my dream hadn't changed much, except it had expanded to include my parents. I would eke out a living in this new world, this new town. Perhaps I'd make use of my natural language skills, or become self-sufficient. That garden would go nicely with that.

However, the discovery of my identity changed all that. Now? All I wanted to do was hide myself away. I didn't want _anything_ to do with Cloud's destiny. Me, fight Sephiroth? What a joke. No, maybe if I just…did nothing, then I wouldn't need to do anything. And who's to say that the Planet needed me anyway? Zack could be the hero. And without Cloud there, holding him back at the end, he would've survived. So without me in the picture…Zack could save the day.

 _Yes,_ I nodded, _no need for my presence. I'll just…sit here and play with this globe._

Okay, in all honesty, I was bored. Supremely so. I had explored the extent of the house, all thirty-eight meters and eighty-eight centimeters squared. Yes, I had measured it out, and no, this place had never heard of imperial measurements. I didn't remember the exact conversion, but I knew there were a little more than three feet in a meter, so it was like…a bit more than a hundred and twenty square feet total?

Either way, the house was small. Much smaller than I was used to, but my parents didn't seem to even notice it.

I had had plenty of time to memorize the layout of the house, had combed every centimeter. First, there was the oaken entryway, marked by a traditional Nibel rug, and recessed into the house like a Japanese _genkan_. It had a small shelf on the left-hand side as you walked in. Moth—Skye had placed a potted spider plant there, which she watered every so often, and a small oil lantern, both of which framed a picture of Cosmo Canyon she had taken on her honeymoon. On the right was a small table with a barrel chair, holding another lantern and a small chest of gil for shopping, which father refilled every week.

The main living area was also wood-tiled, but this was made from Douglas fir, a common tree on Mt. Nibel. Another large rug, this one gifted to Mother by _her_ mother, marked out two beds, one of which served as a guest bed but would probably be mine when I grew older. The kitchen area was floored with polished black stones I tended to slip on, and consisted of a sink, combination stove and oven, fridge (which generally held meat and milk products), and a cabinet containing crockery. The cast iron cookware mothe—Skye used hung from a pot rack above the stove. There was also another table with barrel chairs, used for dining.

Then there was the area off to the side. Three steps up from the living area; this contained a small toilet area, and was where all the knickknacks my parents had collected over the years were stored. Such as the globe of Gaia, a box of swords and a shield my father kept for when he crossed Mt. Nibel every day, a spare wheel, a box of Potions, a grandfather clock, and the aforementioned Turtle's Paradise alcohol. My fath—John had been one of the many workers who had migrated here from Shinra to work on the reactor, so we were fairly well stocked, though we were still one of the poorer families in town.

Not that I minded. My "quality of life" might have decreased, and I might be living in a house the size of my old living room, but the people around me more than made up for that.

Despite my hesitance at getting any closer with _Cloud's_ parents, I couldn't help but love them. They didn't act like spoiled children, but _parents_. My mother hugged me whenever she could, and enjoyed taking the time to help me out with my writing or let me try a new experiment she had whipped up in the kitchen, which were always delicious. My father would spin me around in the air or point at various spots on the globe, telling stories about what he had heard of the place or what he had seen for himself. And he and Mother took turns telling me bedtime stories. Father told me tales of his life back at Midgar. Mother told me legends about the great god Loki and his children. Such as Fenrir, who had chosen to settle in the mountains of Nibel, and the serpent Jormungandr, who had chosen to guard the marshlands of Midgar. Even now, their descendants roamed the lands, though most people thought them monsters.

The stories sounded like a bastardization of Norse mythology, and I wondered whether the old myths had any truth to them, if they had transcended worlds like this, or if that just meant the people who came up with them had spread further than I had thought.

.

When I turned four, my father caught me looking at his swords. "Do you want to learn how to use them?" he asked. "It's dangerous work, but it's good to know your way around a blade. You're still too young now, but in the future…"

I shook my head. No, swords sounded far too close to _that_ Cloud. I wasn't the same person. I was different. "No thanks." I ignored the man's shocked expression. Most likely, he had been chomping at the bit as a child himself.

Things were a bit awkward around the house after that, but life went back to normal. Eventually, however, my parents tried to encourage me to leave the house, to be like other children, to run around and play.

But, the truth was, I just couldn't. I had played the game enough times so that the very sight of the well, of the mansion, of the mountains, was enough to cause shivers to roll down my spine and to see the whole area superimposed in flames. No, I wasn't ready to face the outside world. Not yet. Maybe in a few more years…

I kept telling myself that, but I knew I would eventually have to leave, have to face the music. But I would wait as long as possible till that day came.

In the meantime, I frustrated my parents with my stubbornness. They tried all sorts of things—trickery, bribery, etc. Eventually they just picked me up and plopped me down amidst a group of other children. I had more dignity than to go kicking and screaming, but I still crossed my arms in a huff to show "we are not amused."

The other kids were a bunch of hair pulling, nose picking, screaming brats. And they were especially fascinated with my hair, something that hadn't changed from my last life, though for different reasons. Here, instead of long black tresses that were easy to pull, I had fluffy blond spikes that wouldn't stay flat even after hours of work. My mother had sighed and lamented genetics. Her own hair was naturally spiky, but not nearly as bad as mine. My father's, however…well, his nickname as a child had been hedgehog pie, a monster commonly found in the Shinra slums.

Eventually, it became too much to bear. The babbling of multiple voices, sticky mitts in my hair, and the sheer wild energy of the others. Not that I didn't have energy, but mine was directed toward exploring and learning to write, not toward screaming others' ears off, or running around like a madman.

Though, if I had truly been four again, I probably would've been in the thick of it. My past life, I had been a wild child; always getting myself into adventures, recruiting others for it, etc. It had been nice, and I had fond memories of that time. Never had I expected to be thrust into that type of situation again, though.

It was worse around this time, because I knew just how disgusting human saliva was, I knew just how simpleminded these people were still, and how petty their cries of "lice" were. Apparently there were boy lice and girl lice, and while girl lice was perfectly okay if you were a girl, if you were a boy, it was the worst thing ever. I couldn't help but flashback to the cooties from my childhood, and snorted. Even back then, I had realized how ridiculous this whole affair was.

"Cloud, run! You don't wanna get infected by Susie's lice, do you?" one boy, who I had internally nicknamed _Jock_ for his alpha-dog personality, shouted at me.

"Oh no, we couldn't have _that_ ," I replied.

"Yeah, so run!" he cried, before tearing off with the rest of them. Apparently sarcasm was lost on people at this age.

"I-I just w-wanted to play with everyone too," said girl hiccupped, and I froze. Oh no, I wasn't dealing with this. No way. Insecure little kids who had a hard time fitting in? They had been enough of a handful in my last life, without having to worry about them here. I had _been_ one of them myself at one point, so I knew, if you showed them kindness, you were in for the long haul. And I just wasn't ready for that kind of commitment.

She glanced up at me, blinking, before suddenly turning hopeful. "A-are you going to leave too?"

 _Ugh. Where's Tifa when you need her?_ Unfortunately, she wasn't part of this group, and I hadn't seen her since I turned three. Either way, she'd probably be a lot better at this than me, even being a year younger.

"Uhh, I'll stay," I decided. She seemed at least a little calmer than the others, though that might have something to do with her being an outcast of sorts.

Her personality did a complete one-eighty. "Really? Yay! Then wanna play dollies?" she gave a gap-toothed grin, and I winced. "Uhh, no thanks. I don't play with dollies."

"Oh, that's right," she drooped. "Boys don't play with dollies. Poo!" she pouted, kicking a rock. "Then why don't we play house?"

 _She's such a typical girl,_ I thought. Maybe I would have been better off with the boys.

Eventually, I convinced her that no, I didn't want to play house, and no, I wasn't interested in being dressed up either. I had hated these activities back in my past life, and I knew I would hate them just as much here. She burst into tears of frustration by the time my parents arrived, and I had to talk fast to get myself out of a lecture. My moth—Skye had still told me to be gentler about the things I said, however. My f—John, on the other hand, looked supremely relieved that his son wasn't _girly_.

Oh, the irony.

The next day I was placed in the middle of the group of kids, the boys avoided me because I had girl lice now so I was "condamdemated," and Susie avoided me because I was a "big meanie face." Either way, I was suddenly the most unpopular kid in town.

Not that I minded that much. Sure, I was a bit socially stunted this time around, but I was also dead set against going outside if I could. I winced every time I looked at the Shinra Mansion, and thought of the horrors that went on underneath.

I couldn't help the stab of guilt when I saw my parents' disappointed faces, but it wouldn't matter, right? We could still do fun things inside, and maybe after I learned to write properly, I would try and be social. There, I set a goal for myself. Until then, however, let me pretend for a little while longer…

Let me pretend that this new life was the normal, happy one I'd hoped for. Let me pretend I wasn't born _that_ Cloud Strife, that my world wouldn't eventually be turned upside-down. Let me pretend.

Because reality was far too much to bear.

.

A week later, my fath—John took me to our roof to see the aurora borealis. Or the northern lights, as he called them. I had never seen them in my past life, at least not in real life, which was the only reason I didn't put up more of a fuss than I did. Thus, I was disappointed by the reality. They were nothing more than grayish-white stripes. They curled in the sky like smoke, and their centers glowed a pale green, but they were nowhere near the night rainbows I had expected.

My stomach clenched in disappointment, but I hid my scowl when I saw my father's expression. It was like looking at a different man, one untouched by time or stress. He had never seen high-resolution pictures of these before, had never seen them beyond what the naked eye could reveal. While my prior expectations had set me up for disappointment, he was taking the sight in by itself, uninfluenced by comparisons.

Perhaps I would do well to follow his example.

I sat back, arms aligned with my shoulders, craning my neck up to look at the sky, at the shimmering bands of light. "It really _is_ beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is," my father replied.

We sat there, the two of us, till the lights faded from the sky and my yawns came every minute instead of every ten. At that point, my fath—John turned himself around to face me. My shoulders straightened, the urge to yawn for the nth time chased away by his serious expression.

"Son, I know it's hard, fitting in sometimes. Your mother and I have seen how grown-up you are for your age. So it can be hard getting along with others who haven't caught up with you yet."

I almost laughed, remembering a similar conversation my past father had had with me. "But I should still make an effort, right?"

He chuckled, "Took the words right out of my mouth. That's my smart boy." He ruffled my hair, and I stuck out my tongue. He knew just how annoying that was, having had it done to his own hair, yet he still did it.

His face turned serious again. "Yes, you should, and not only to please me and your mother, but for yourself. You see, Cloud, they might seem like a bunch of kids now, but eventually they'll grow up into true friends, friends you can rely on when times get tough. We all need people like that in our lives."

"People like Rachel?" I asked.

My father sighed. "Yes, people like her. Now don't tell her this, son, but your mother is far too proud for her own good. And Rachel's just the opposite. When people are opposites, well, sometimes they don't get along."

I knew the story behind his words, the things he wouldn't say. That Rachel's husband, Mr. Lockhart, and my father had never seen eye to eye. That Rachel went along with Mr. Lockhart because he was her husband and he must be right. That my mother had married her own husband not to get ahead, but for love. So when Rachel had parroted Mr. Lockhart's words to my mother, she hadn't taken it well at all, and it had resulted in the feud that was still going on today. My father had been dismayed at being the cause of their rift, but he hadn't been able to sway his wife at all. She had put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin, every inch the indomitable woman she was. "I married you because you are the finest man this side of the Planet. Let the gossips chatter, but if they dare say it to my face, then they should be ready to face the consequences."

And that was that. My father had thrown his hands into the air in a gesture of helplessness before giving up.

I thought I had done a good job of derailing the conversation, but my father wouldn't be diverted so easily. "Promise me you'll try to get along more with the other kids, son."

A pause, and then a sigh. "All right," I yawned. "For you, dad." Certainly not for me.

He chuckled, and ruffled my hair again. "That's about as much as I can ask for. Come, it's getting late and you should've been in bed hours ago."

"Not my fault," I quipped.

"Yes, yes, I know, my fault," he smiled, looking even more relaxed than he had before. "Come on, scamp, let's get you to bed."

We were shooed into bed by Mother, and I drifted off almost right after my head hit the pillow. This body didn't seem to have the perpetual insomnia my old one had, so it made things all-around easier. I remember hearing the sleepy "good night" my parents whispered before drifting off into dreamland.

I keep this memory close to my heart, because it's the last one I have of _us_.

* * *

I'm not yet sure where I'm taking this story. However, I will be using timeskips for childhood, since...well, if I went into long detail on childhood, we'd never get anywhere. I'll definitely be slowing down once I hit the teenage years, since that's where the meat and potatoes of Cloud's life happens. Also, while I prefer the main game over the others, the side games will have an impact on this. I'm playing through Crisis Core and watching a Let's Play of Before Crisis, so I'm hoping I won't miss anything crucial. As for Dirge of Cerberus...well, from what I understand it takes place after Advent Children, so it won't really be relevant anytime soon. If there's anything from that game that happens pre-main game that I should know, please review/PM me about it.

I chose Skye as Cloud's mother's name because apparently it's fanon? Or at least that's what one author said in a story. I was thinking of Claudia, since that was her concept name, but considering her last name there was Strauss, pretty sure it's non-canon. John I just chose because "John Strife," heheh. Was going to go for a weather-related name for him too, but realized how unrealistic that would be, as nice as it'd be to complete the pattern. Rachel was taken from Tifa's VA's name. None of the kids are OCs, though they were unnamed in the game. Also middle names don't exist in Japan, so I went off that rather than think up a middle name for every important character.

I think I started to hit my stride this chapter. I've never written a reincarnation story before, so last chapter was entirely new ground for me, thus I felt uncomfortable writing it, which probably showed. However, childhood is more familiar ground with me, since, while I've never been reincarnated, I have experienced childhood. I'll probably go back and edit the prologue later when I get a better grasp of the subject.

Also, trying a new style of line breaks different from my usual one. FFN takes away center formatting and you have to reformat it, but I've gotten lazy and don't want to have to do that (plus, I oftentimes miss one or two). So a dot at the left side looks a lot cleaner than a "ooo" at the left side.


	3. Chapter II

**Chapter II**

The next day wasn't much different than the others. For lunch, I was served stew once more. That seemed to be a thing with my mother. Stew. Not that it wasn't delicious, but I was starting to miss the variety of my old world. The cheeseburgers topped with pickles, onions, ketchup, and mustard. The salads drizzled with tart dressing and croutons. The fruit bowls, the pasta, the pizza, the submarine sandwiches, the chips served with creamy dips. The fruit juices, the fizzy sodas, the—

Okay, that was enough of _that_. My mouth was starting to water.

Regardless, the food here, while good, hardly ever deviated from the norm of bread, tubers, meat, and cheese. And their cheese wasn't even from cows, either, but from large, shaggy sheep with huge faces. Not that it wasn't any less delicious. Just…different.

Speaking of, my tastes had changed. Before, when eating, whether I liked something or not depended on flavor. But now it was richness. Before, due to its plain flavor, bread had been one of my least favorite foods, but now bread with butter was one of my favorite snacks. Another unsettling reminder that not only this place, but my body itself, was different.

"Great lunch, mom," I said, hopping off the barrel chair. I was still far too short to reach the sink and do the dishes myself like I used to, but my hands itched to do so anyway every time I finished eating. Mo—Skye had laughed herself silly the one time I attempted it, holding the bowl high above my head over the sink, unable to even _see_ what I was washing.

"My little worker," she had said, ruffling my hair as she did so. "You'll have to wait a few years before you can do that, but Mommy can do it in the meantime."

I didn't want to have to add to her workload, though. My mother was one of the mountain natives, and had been taught the art of weaving by her own mother. Most of the money she made was from selling off her rugs and handmade clothing to other residents and the local merchant. However, when she wasn't doing that, she was busy keeping house, from sweeping the floor to doing the dishes. It felt odd, coming from a family with a businesswoman for a mother, to see her doing most of the chores that had been my duty. And unlike before, where I had done so with reluctance, this time I was more than eager to do my part.

At least I didn't seem to strain their budgets that much, though I worried about when I got older and my appetite increased.

I ran to my usual place: the small table in the entryway. Picking up the chunky wooden pencil, I started going through my letters again. Perhaps it was odd, the single-minded intensity I was putting into this task, but I had always valued the ability to write, now more so than before, when I didn't have access to computer keyboards or even typewriters. Before, writing meant I was one step closer to growing up. Now, well it still meant that, but it also meant I would again be able to do the things I took for granted before. Like write up a grocery list, or small notes for myself. You don't realize how much you rely on a skill until it's gone.

The only downside to that is that I'd have to force myself outside once I finished. Then again, my parents had already forced me outside, and I had no doubt it would happen again. So, reluctant as I was to admit it, I would eventually have to face the music and figure out just _what_ I was going to do with my life.

Well, I would figure that out later. I was a four-year-old kid. I had time to play, relax, and enjoy having a family.

I frowned at the haphazard squiggles on the paper. My mother urged me to put down my pencil, but I shook my head. Due to laziness, my handwriting had gone to pot in my last life. I would _not_ let that happen again. No more comparisons between doctors and cavemen. No more bad marks for poor readability. Not that school would be a problem for me in this life. Or would I even have to worry about it? Did they have school here? They must, unless everybody was homeschooled.

Actually, they might very well homeschool their children here. Or just skip it altogether. This was a secluded mountain village, after all.

The thought was a bit terrifying. My last life had revolved around school. Well, not in an "I have no life I only care about my studies" way, because I hadn't. Friends, books, music, and video games…these were all things I enjoyed, things that filled my life. School hadn't been my sole reason for being. But it _was_ the backbone to my life: school meant college, which meant degree, which meant eventual career, which meant money, which meant everything else like food, a house, a car, and hobbies.

School was just a given. To not go to school was…unthinkable. But it was a very likely possibility that here, I wouldn't ever have the chance.

The clatter of plates jolted me from my thoughts. Skye had finished drying the now-clean bowls with a soft woolen towel, stretching her arms afterward. "Well, now that that's done, what do you say to going outside, Cloud?"

Her voice was warm, but her arms were crossed, her chin tilted _just_ _so_. There would be no denying Mrs. Strife today. With a sigh, I set down my pencil, and hopped off the barrel chair, casting one last, longing glance at the paper on the table before following the blond woman out the door.

By now, I had gotten over my initial shock enough that if I didn't look at the well or the mansion, I could pretend I was in some _other_ mountain village, and not embarrass my mother by going into a panic attack.

It wasn't really that they were that recognizable, not in any way, shape, or form. No, Midgar had always been the iconic image of the game, that and Cloud. I still remember looking at my game box, and how the sight of it sent shivers up my spine. The camera angled from below, with this towering figure of a man with blond hair that looked like it had been gelled into spikes (but which I could confirm were all too natural, and all too unmanageable), a gloved hand wrapped around the handle of a gigantic, battered broadsword. In the background loomed a building resembling a giant robot, geysers of bright green light giving the whole picture an eerie feel.

Neither the well nor the manor could rival that scene. However, looking at them, and understanding what they meant, was what set my mind into overdrive.

 _Bad Cloud,_ I slapped myself. _You told yourself you wouldn't think about this. So don't think about it._

I had become quite an expert at not thinking about things. See, it was the same as procrastination. If you just busied yourself with other things, then that one big thing you had to do or think about wouldn't bother you as much.

Okay, that wasn't really the healthiest way to deal with this whole situation, but oh well. This big thing wasn't affecting me at the moment, and that was all that counted.

"Hello, Mrs. Hansen, how are you today?" Skye greeted a woman with gray hair tied up in a bun. I had met her a couple times before. She was the village's medicine woman, mother of the item shop owner, and potion brewer.

In short, she was probably the most influential person in town aside from the mayor. And while the mayor didn't get along with my family, this woman did. While she tolerated John Strife, which was more than one could say for the rest of the immigrants from Shinra, she doted on my mother like the daughter she had never had.

In fact, from what I had seen so far, most of the people in town liked my mother. She was sweet, helpful, and generous. However, they viewed my father with fear, anger, or indifference in the case of Mrs. Hansen. In fact, they took any moment they could to badmouth him and the rest of the Shinra workers. The first time I had come across that, I had been shocked. My father, gentle, jocular father, had never spoken ill of anybody, so what right did these people have to speak ill of him?

When I asked him about it, cheeks puffed up and arms crossed in righteous anger, John had merely laughed and ruffled my hair, as was his habit. "That's very sweet of you Cloud, but don't worry about it. I learned long ago that there would always be people that won't like me. It's not something you can change, but it is something you can accept. After all, if we were all the same, the world would be a boring place."

How could a person be so forgiving? Sometimes I wondered if he and Skye were saints, but then that illusion would be shattered when I caught John swearing and playing cards with his friends, or when my mother referred to the others in town as "stupid trolls with nothing better to do than spit on others." It took me a second to realize she meant literal trolls and not the online kind, though the comparison fit either way.

"How many times have I told you to call me Dolma, dear?" Mrs. Hansen replied, tone fond. She looked at me and smiled with slightly less warmth. I suppose, considering my father, it was a miracle she even talked to me. It probably helped that I took after my mother in appearance, from the hair to the feminine bone structure.

"I see you brought Nibel today," she said. For some reason, she preferred calling me Nibel over Cloud. When I asked Skye about that, she said that Nibel meant Cloud in the native mountain tongue, something which only a few of the older denizens even knew how to speak anymore, what with Shinra's goal of having everybody speak English, even if it wasn't called by that name here. It had worked, and now even my mother only knew bits and pieces of the old tongue. I suppose that was sad, but I couldn't deny it made my life easier. I couldn't imagine trying to learn a new language on top of everything else.

"Yes," Skye replied. "Cloud here has been hiding away from the sun for far too long. He needs some fresh air."

I refrained from pointing out that I had gotten fresh air just _last night_ , thank you very much, and had been getting it for the _past_ _week_ thanks to one bullheaded Mrs. Strife. She could out-stubborn a mule. Heck, she could out-stubborn _me_ , and I had been a Taurus in my past life.

"Well, that's good. Does a boy good to be outdoors. He should emulate my grandson in that respect, though heaven knows I wish mine were more like your boy in most other ways. Has the attention span of a mutated Mu, that one."

"How is Karl, by the way?"

"Oh, fine, just fine. Did you hear? Yesterday, he—"

I phased out from their small talk. _If I start moving now, do you think I'll make it home in time before mother notices?_ Nah. She'd notice. I could swear she had eyes on the back of her head. I had seen oblivious, air-headed mothers in my past life whose child could be kidnapped right under their nose and they not notice it, but Skye Strife was not one of those mothers.

So instead, I sat there patiently, eyes fixated on the ground. It was the safest place to look. The dirt was a strange yellowish color, and I wondered if that was due to the mixture of the soil or the presence of the reactor. You never could tell with this place.

The rest of the day was spent wandering around town. Skye visited the Item Store to buy groceries. We were running low on salt, which we would use to cure meat. It was approaching winter, so everybody was shoring up on food in preparation for the cold months ahead. The salt was stored in airtight wooden casks, which I rolled home.

Then mother showed me how she cured meat. "The first step is cleaning the meat," she told me. "Trimming off the excess fat and tendons, and removing the bones. After all, we don't want to bite into a bone," she grinned.

"Yeah, that'd suck," I replied.

"Suck…?"

"I mean, uh, that would be bad." Sometimes I forgot myself and used slang nobody had ever heard of. Thankfully, the others just passed it off as a child's made-up vocabulary. _But when I get older, I won't have that excuse,_ I thought, brow furrowed.

"Oh, you," she shook her head. "Anyway, let's try and get as much done as we can before your father gets home."

"Okay," I nodded, setting to work. But afternoon turned to evening, which turned to nighttime, and father still wasn't back.

"You don't think he's just out drinking with his friends?" I asked Skye. After all, he'd done that before.

She sighed. "He might be, but even then, he's usually back by now."

We stayed up for a while, watching the doorway, before mo—Skye remembered that it was long past moonrise and her four-year-old child was still awake.

"You go to bed," she scolded me. "Can't have you sleeping the whole day away tomorrow. I still need to show you how to salt the meat."

"All right," I yawned. I was worried about John, of course, but it would do no good sitting here overthinking things. Plus, I _was_ tired. I trotted to the bed and lay down, though despite my best efforts, it took a bit to finally get to sleep.

The next day I noticed a helicopter flying overhead, and stopped what I was doing to stare at it. All of the Shinra men currently working at the reactor had decided to settle down in Nibelheim, whether it was because they had found somebody like my father had, or because it was convenient. Because of that, the only time I had ever seen a helicopter was when it was flying supplies out here.

"What do you think that's for?" I asked Skye nervously.

She shook her head, "I couldn't say." Still, I could tell she was worried. She was currently nibbling on her lower lip, and her hands were tapping on the table at a frantic pace. It seemed like more than just a coincidence that a helicopter would arrive the day after Father failed to return home. In fact, asking around town had confirmed that nobody had seen any of the Shinra workers since yesterday morning.

The day passed in monotony. I couldn't concentrate on anything but my fa—I mean, John. Skye was worried too. She made us go through the motions of salting the meat, but I could tell her heart wasn't in it. That evening, we stood at the northern exit of Nibelheim, the threshold between the town and the mountains. To go any further wouldn't be safe. After all, it was approaching winter, and every winter, without fail, monsters would attack the town.

"It never used to be that way," Skye told me once. "But after the reactor was built, the wild beasts started to become more and more feral. Even the Nibel wolves. They used to be tamable, well, as tamable as any wild animal can be. But now it's nearly impossible."

I watched the sun dip lower in the sky, setting fire to the mountainsides it nestled between. The shadows lengthened, dragging long fingers through the ground, till the time came when the sky's colors melted into night, and silver stars poked through the curtain of black. The little warmth remaining in the air dissipated, replaced by a bone-chilling cold.

And still we waited. We waited till the first light of dawn touched the sky, till the autumn berries gleamed in the sun, till the mournful howls of the Nibel wolves had stilled. When we returned indoors, despite our thick woolen clothing, our skin was red and raw as if seared by fire, but we could not feel a thing.

The days passed in such a manner. Every evening, without fail, Mother and I would wait at the town's entrance, afraid that, in the stillness of the night, John Strife's return would go unheralded and unnoticed. Yet with every day, our hope waned. After all, one doesn't just _survive_ for days in the Nibel wilderness. If the cold doesn't get you, then the beasts will.

Once, a woman wrapped in a thick, patterned scarf waited with us. The scarf was of Mother's make. I recognized her as Mrs. White, the only other woman in the town married to a Shinra worker.

There weren't that many Shinra workers here. Nibelheim was an isolated area, with little disturbances aside from the native monsters. Half a dozen men had been assigned to work maintenance on it, including John Strife. While most of those people had kept separate from the citizens, inhabiting small cottages on the outskirts of town (and avoiding the manor for some reason), two had decided to marry. One of them was my father, another was a short, rotund man named Harold. When Harold met young Elizabeth, it had been love at first sight.

Elizabeth White sighed beside us. "They're calling you crazy, you know?"

Skye Strife turned slowly, mouth drawn into a thin line.

The brunette continued as if she had never noticed the action. "They say that you must be, after all, you're a native. You know as well as they do that there's no way for them to have survived. They're dead, and you must accept that. But…" she stared at the mountains as if devouring them. "How can they understand? After all, it's not _their_ husbands out there."

Skye nodded in agreement.

We said nothing more for the rest of the evening, but when the night's chill washed over us, we trembled together, waiting for the dawn.

.

When the first snow fell from the sky, Elizabeth stopped waiting. So did I. After all, it grew obvious to me, as well as the rest of the villagers, that John Strife would never be coming back. Nor would the other Shinra workers. Another helicopter arrived, bearing more men dressed in the light blue of repairmen, as well as a couple businessmen in black suits. These men did not talk to us, and they never left the manor. How they managed to get up to the reactor when they never left the place was a mystery, but I did not wonder, nor did I care.

Things didn't matter as much as they did before. I no longer cared that the town would burn in flames some years in the future. What did it matter if the world would end? I had died once already, and I would someday die again. I felt strange. Hollow. This whole life felt unreal, as if I had been living a dream. Nothing made sense, so why make sense of it?

Skye was still waiting. I would watch her watch the mountains sometimes. I noted absently that her skin was paling, her once lithe frame becoming haggard and skinny. Underfed. I pinched my stomach. Ah. My ribs were jutting through my skin. Perhaps I wasn't eating enough either. _That wasn't right,_ I thought. After all, we had to bulk up for winter.

Sometimes townspeople would walk over to where Skye stood, attempting to tug her away from her job as watchman. Mrs. Hansen was one of the more frequent offenders. She also would take the chance to stuff baskets of food into my arms. I ate mechanically, more out of necessity than desire. Then I would make Mother eat. After all, it wasn't good not to eat. You would die if you didn't eat, right? Even if I died, that didn't mean she had to die either.

One day, when the ground started to freeze, I walked outside to find my mother shaking one of the repairmen half to death. There were three of them, actually. Well, two, and one businessman.

 _This is a change,_ I thought. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to stand there, still as stone, like she always did. Wait, always? Had she always done this?

"Tell me what happened!" she screamed, eyes alight. They looked like goblin eyes, as if lit by the fires of Hel, another of Loki's children. "Tell me!" Briefly, the word "mako" brushed against my thoughts. "If you don't tell me, I'll—" Oh yes, she looked like a SOLDIER. "All right, all right, calm down lady." But no, that was just the lighting. Mother wasn't a SOLDIER.

She stopped shaking the man, but before he could speak, the businessman took over. "There was an explosion at the reactor," he spoke tonelessly, as if he were delivering the mail. "Unfortunately, there were one hundred percent casualties. Shinra is currently working to repair the damage and provide replacement workers as we speak."

A long pause.

"One hundred…percent…casualties?" my voice was the first to break the silence. Sometime during that speech, I had wandered over. My head still felt muddled, but the mist was clearing. _One hundred percent casualties. One hundred percent of a value means zero percent of the opposite value. One hundred percent casualties means zero percent survivors. So if my father were among those casualties, which he would have to be, since it's one hundred percent, then that means he didn't survive. Which means he is dead._

It was as if somebody had taken a hammer and shattered through the glass walls of my mind. I felt like screaming, because suddenly I knew, without a doubt, that he was _dead_.

"Yes, but do not worry. We will be getting new people to work on the reactor, so your lives are not in danger."

 _"That's not the point!"_ I exploded. And it was as if a dam had burst, and my heart, which had been so _empty_ before, was suddenly overfilling. "Why do you keep going on about inane subjects such as residual damage and Shinra upkeep? Do you seriously think that that is the main problem here? Do you? Do you not realize that one hundred percent means that people are dead? That they're all dead? My _father_ was one of those _casualties_ you speak of, you despicable, callous _worm_." And I only now realized that I _had_ seen John Strife as a father. That even though this wasn't _my_ body, somehow these people had become _my_ parents. One of whom was already dead.

The worm in front of me jolted, seeming to look at me for the first time. I glared back. To treat death so flippantly, he had probably never dealt with it. Had never watched the light fade from somebody's eyes _like I had._ He looked like a paper pusher through and through, from his combed brown hair and crisp black suit to his polished shoes.

Had I been thinking right, perhaps I would have predicted what came next. "You have quite a curious son," the worm spoke to my mother, ignoring my outraged shouts. "How old is he? Six?"

My mother replied automatically, lost in the haze of grief she had descended into since that man's words. "Four."

" _Interesting_ ," the worm replied, eyes gleaming. His mouth tugged into the barest hint of a grin. I shrank back despite my anger. Suddenly, this person didn't seem so harmless anymore. Rather than a worm, he was more like a snake. He bent down to look me in the eyes. "We'll keep in touch," he promised, but for some reason those words sent a cold shiver up my spine. Straightening, he nodded one last time at me before catching up with his fellow Shinra people in long, easy strides. As he did so, sunlight reflected off a metallic object on his hip.

Wait, that was a…oh. Shit. He was a Turk. I had somehow caught a Turk's attention at four years old. Shit, shit, shit. First, my father died, and now this. Like a one-two sucker punch to the gut. Couldn't life give me a break sometimes?

In hindsight, it was obvious. President Shinra would never settle for anything less than the best when it came to his precious reactors. Not only that, but few had the clearance to deal with them in the first place if you weren't a maintenance worker. In addition, he was wearing a _black suit_. How could I forget? Black suits equated to Turks. Just like glowing eyes equated to SOLDIERs.

Did I say shit already? Because I was in deep.

* * *

So this chapter is a bit shorter than the last one but I figured this would be a good place to stop. Just so you know, I did not plan any of this ahead of time-aside from John's death, which I had planned from the getgo-so this came as a complete surprise to me too, but oh wells! Que será, será. I'm just as curious to see where this ends up going as you all, though I'm getting a better idea of it as the story progresses. Though I do have to say that having learned a little bit more from watching the LP of Before Crisis, I had to scramble to change a few things. It's a bit annoying having to adjust your writing to fit updated canon.

By the way, sheep are actually in multiple Final Fantasy games, so I figured it'd be fine to include them here, even if they weren't actually in the FFVII game. Or at least, as far as I know, they weren't. Chocobos were the only barnyard animal I remember there being... Also, I drew on what little knowledge of Tibetan culture I had for this, and researched to fill in the blanks. Shepherd's Crossing helped with the rest. It's a neat little game about living on a mountainous farm, and a lot more realistic than Harvest Moon, though I like both games.


	4. Chapter III

**Chapter III**

When it rained, it poured.

Never had those words been more apt in my life. Well, two lives. Though the rain had long since frozen to snow, as the flakes landed on my cheek, watching the departing blue-suited back, I could only think those words. Before I knew it, I started to hiccup, tears trailing down my face, wondering why everything had gone south so fast.

A hand took mine and held fast, as if I were a lifeline, and, looking down, my eyes followed it to a skeletal arm, onwards to a woman in an orange serge dress. It was her favorite, I noted absently, picking apart its flaws. The stains that marred its surface, the small holes caused by snags and rips, things that, in the past, would have been scrubbed clean and sewed up. Because it was her favorite. Because _he_ had gifted it to her. The dress she had worn for days on end now, only taking it off to wash when it started to stink.

My eyes traveled upward, to a sunken face with sharp cheekbones. I had always admired that face for its straight, elliptical shape, ending in a soft point at the chin. It had had the ability to appear stern but kind, firm but gentle. Now, it was as if I were looking at a stranger. Even her hair, the same hue as mine, seemed more like straw sticking out of a scarecrow than a facet of a living being.

The only familiar parts to this person before me were her eyes, the color of leaping rivers against a pure mountain sky. For so long, they had seemed frozen over, as if locked into an eternal winter. Now, I could only wonder at the change.

"Cloud," her voice was raw, husky, a smoker's voice. "Cloud, let's go home."

So we walked through empty streets, boots crunching against the snow, and though the air was cold, my hand was warm.

.

I had forgotten.

Wrapped up in the bigger picture, _the fate of the world_ , I had forgotten the smaller things, things no less important to me, but minuscule to the world itself.

Cloud had grown up without a father. This was fact. I even vaguely remembered him saying as much, but in the grand scheme of things, it had been nothing but a footnote, an afterthought, quickly forgotten. What did it matter if he had grown up without a father? Wasn't that a requirement for any protagonist nowadays? I had paid no mind to it, because Cloud was so much more than a fatherless child. There was only the one mention of his father, but after that, it was as if the man had never existed. And, perhaps, if I had been a normal four year old, it would have gone on like that. Memories fade quickly at a young age, and his disappearance would have been nothing more than a small bump in the road. You cry, you patch it up, and it is forgotten soon after.

But I was a twenty-one year old stuffed into the body of a four year old, so I remembered. And I mourned. I went outside to the edge of town and screamed my lungs out, probably scaring away any wild beasts in the vicinity, but it had been a necessary thing, a release of pent-up emotion and stress. And then I cried, but it was never enough. If I could give all my tears to wash the pain away, I would have, but there were only so many tears a child could shed before they finished, curling into a little ball of exhaustion.

My mother found me like that, half frozen, and scolded me so hard I probably would have cried some more if I could. But she understood. She, too, understood the longing to go to sleep and never wake up. But she didn't give into that urge, for which I was immensely thankful. I had already lost one pillar in my life. It would absolutely break me to lose the other.

Attachment. Love. I hadn't realized I felt any of these things for that man, my…father, until he was gone. I choked down a sob, hands itching to tug at red spikes until their owner laughingly asked me to stop. To hear his voice again. But try as I might, that would never happen, and I had to learn to deal with that knowledge.

It wasn't as if I had never experienced loss before. I had. Deep, personal loss, each one chinking just a little bit _more_ from me, scrambling to find new hobbies, new goals, new people, until I had become, if not whole, a little bit more so. But it wasn't as if that made this any better, any easier. I just knew what to expect, is all.

I couldn't help but wonder where John Strife was now. Had he been reborn? Maybe he was in my old world right now, his memories most likely gone, nothing left of his old self but his pure, generous personality. Whoever had given birth to him was blessed beyond measure. Or perhaps he had moved _on_ , and was now reaping the benefits of a life well lived.

I wished him luck wherever he was, but I couldn't help the selfish longing in my heart. I wanted him _here_. Not…wherever he was now. Here where he was loved, where he had people who cared for him. And yet I could not wish the same pain on him that I was experiencing now, for he would surely feel it, as the only survivor of the Shinra maintenance workers, of his group of friends.

Which led, once more, to my own life, or past one, and what my friends who were left behind thought. Had they moved on? Had my family? Had they mourned me, or had it been nothing more than a brief night of sorrow and then moving on with their lives? Part of me wished for the former, because that would show that I had been loved, and yet another part hoped for the latter, because I did not deserve such esteem.

I who had forgotten entirely that my father would die. I who might have been able to prevent it. If only I had remembered, hadn't been so caught up in my own problems. If only, and then…I could have warned him against the reactor, perhaps persuaded him to get a different job. And then he'd still be alive.

A bunch of what ifs, and I knew the illogicality of them, yet I couldn't help but return to them. Every night, I couldn't help but go back over them, wondering at the possibilities that would never come true now. Because I had _forgotten_.

My hands clenched into fists, and I ran outside once more.

Where before, I had sought solace in the warm coziness of our house, now I could not get away from it fast enough. Everywhere I looked, I saw ghosts of a little blond boy and his redhead father, heard laughter that wasn't there, and felt my heart break all over again.

So I stayed outdoors. Studiously ignoring the well and manor, I gathered wood for the house. I didn't have the strength or the height to separate tree branches from trunks, so instead I settled for gathering the fallen ones, piling them into a bundle in my arms. With a stack of branches so high I couldn't even see over them, I returned home, lingering in front of the hot stove, before leaving to gather more.

At least I was doing _something_ now. At least I was working. Working toward…something. Doing something with my life other than being a useless _lump_ , nothing but a leech, not even doing anything to save—

My fist punched out, hitting the tree in front of me. I'm not sure why I did that, only I knew I had to hit something, had to do _something_ or my thoughts would spin out of control again, only realizing my mistake when my knuckles started bleeding. "Ow…" I whimpered, holding the hand up to my face, watching the dark red blood seep out of the wound in morbid fascination. My hand felt at once warm from the blood and cold from the air. Eventually coming back to reality, I glanced around in a panic before running home and holding a wet rag against my hand.

Mother discovered me like that, and scolded me, telling me not to go outside to gather wood anymore. That she was a grown woman who could take care of the both of us. That I didn't have to worry.

Once upon a time, I hadn't been much younger than her. Once upon a time, I was a grown woman who still didn't know what to do with her life. But Skye was tough. Far tougher than I had ever been. And so, when she said that, I believed her.

But I still couldn't stay inside.

I couldn't stay in the town either.

The first time I realized this was the first day I went into town since before…before I found out for sure that my father was dead, and before I made a fool of myself in the aftermath.

My mother was slowly but steadily gaining weight, and had recovered enough to start working on her weaving again. But not enough to go outside. Even she admitted that, asking if I could carry the large basket of rolled-up rugs to the item shop to sell. "He should give you a good deal," she reassured me between coughs. "After all, Mrs. Hansen would give him hell if he did anything otherwise," though her words were dry, her tone was affectionate.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, I was greeted with the sight of the well. I stopped, took in a deep breath, and walked forward. It was easier now than it was back then. Now, I was running from something more haunting than an old well.

The basket was heavy, but not too heavy. I didn't have to carry it that far, either way. The item shop was literally across the square, one of the perks of living in an isolated mountain village. The door swung open as I approached, a large brunette man with thick eyebrows stepping outside from the interior. I had seen him a couple times before. He was Seldon Gyatso, the man who Mrs. White had remarried. Yes, she had already moved on. Or at least pretended to move on. Seldon looked nothing like Mr. White, with the frame of a bodybuilder and a rough way of speaking.

"Humph," he grunted upon seeing me. "Get out of my way, Shinra spawn." He slapped me to the side contemptuously, causing the basket to fall out of my hands, the rugs spilling out as well, landing in a patch of dirt. I watched it in dismay. _Those will need to be cleaned again before we can sell them, now._

"Can't even carry stuff right," the man sneered, spitting. The globule landed on my face, dripping down my cheek. I froze at the sensation, completely uncomprehending the situation. After all, I had done nothing to earn Seldon's ire, at least nothing I could think of. Numbly, I wiped it off my face with a hand, brushing it against the cobblestones that marked the entryway for the shop.

With a last snort, the man stomped past, muttering something about "bastard child," and I could only stare at his retreating back.

I returned home to a worried Mrs. Strife. Why had I returned without selling the rugs? Why were they dirty? Did the item storeowner refuse to buy them? Rather than telling her the truth, I told her I tripped and lost hold of the basket. She still needed to recover, not fret over a single jerk. And that was exactly what she would do if she knew.

Still, I should've taken that incident for the sign it was.

The next day, I exited the house with clean rugs, returning home with not nearly enough money for what they were worth, in my opinion. Whenever I met somebody's gaze, they would turn away with a look of contempt, and whispers followed my every footstep.

Human beings are creatures of contradiction. A single person, by himself or herself, can be a hero or a villain. They can be cruel, and they can be kind. But they are their own person, an individual. Yet put that same person in a group, a group of _individuals_ , mind, and somehow they become a hive.

Perhaps it was a combination of factors that led to it. My own status as an outcast, mother's inability to "get over" father, Shinra's callous attitude toward the deaths of their own workers, said workers living on the fringes as is. But whatever the case may be, I ended up becoming the town pariah.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. I had known of my father's reputation in town, but I had thought the goodwill toward my mother, whom I resembled, and my own youth would make me blameless. I had, after all, no control over my birth.

But people don't care about such things. Not as a group. As a group, they do not bother themselves with the circumstances of a young boy, only his actions. I was antisocial, would probably grow up to become just like my "no-good father," burdening my poor mother. "It would be better," one man said, "if he were to die as well," before he was cut off by his friends, but from the looks on their faces, they didn't truly disagree.

No need to guess why he thought _that_. I had seen the look on his face when he caught sight of my mother. Even in the state she was in, she was beautiful, one of the best-looking women in our village. And now she was single, the only thing tying her down a young boy who had already proven himself problematic. To the villagers who loved my mother, who wanted her back in the fold, I was _in the way_.

Eventually, I got fed up with it all, with the _toxicity_ , and decided to leave the village entirely when I needed some time to myself. Which led to my forays into the mountains.

Call me an idiot, which I was, yes, but anything was better than being stuck in town. Gazing at the well, at the manor, at one's own house, and picturing it all in flames, burned to ashes by a madman with dreams of godhood. The whole while, unable to block one's ears from disdainful murmurs. Sometimes, listening to their words, I wondered if I should even _worry_ about the future. Let Nibelheim burn to the ground. The only person of any worth around here was my mother.

One day, I tried to make her leave. Well, make _us_ leave. "There are a lot better places to live," I begged her. "The winters are too cold and the summers too hot. Dad told me about Rocket Town. It's not too far from here. We can find a way past the mountains somehow. Or maybe Cosmo Canyon. We wouldn't have to go over the mountains then. Plus, you and dad had your honeymoon there. You told me you really, really liked it there! Sooo, whaddaya say?" I clenched my fists and widened my eyes, trying to look adorable and convincing.

Mother chuckled and ruffled my hair, the familiar action causing my throat to swell up and my eyes to water. She seemed to realize what she had done, lifting her hand from my head awkwardly, before patting my cheek. "Cloud," she said, just the way she had always said it. With an emphasis on the C and a tendency to draw out the vowels. That was the Nibelheim way. Father would say it briskly and quickly, just like his friends, a single syllable. Now, there was nobody left to say my name like that.

"Cloud, you don't know what you're saying," Mother shook her head. Her expression was tight, and she looked ten years older. "I am a mountain child, born of the Nibel Mountains, and when I die, I will return to them." She gazed at me intently. "You are half. Half of the mountain and half of the city. Of the wider world, just like your father was. You can leave, but I cannot," she gave me a small, sad smile.

Had I been younger in mind as I was in body, I would've been confused. Actually, I still was. "What do you mean?" I asked her. "There is nothing keeping you here. It's not like you're chained to the mountain or anything."

"I may not be physically, but in here," she pointed toward her heart, "I am. This is my home, Cloud. I could never leave here for good."

I didn't understand, couldn't understand. Maybe it was just a difference in cultures. Back… _then_ , I grew up in one area but moved to another at the start of middle school. I had never truly gotten attached to either location. But Skye Strife had lived here, in Nibelheim, her entire life. She had gotten to see a bit of the outside world, but her heart was still tethered here.

She stared at me with eyes that begged me to understand, that this was the way things were, and I knew, right there and then, that I would never be able to convince her to leave. She had taken root here just as firmly as the mountains had.

I also knew with a growing dread that I could never stay here myself. Well, I _could_. I could try all my life to overcome the hate slung my way, to be accepted by people who had made it more than clear that I wasn't wanted. I could try and try, and watch as all my hard work went up in literal flames. No, I could never stay here.

But I couldn't just leave my mother either. Torn between two feelings, my desire to leave and my desire to be near my mother, I made do with exploring the mountains, at the same time, learning how to survive.

Mt. Nibel was both cold and beautiful. Barren of life, not even a single, spindly tree grew on its harsh gray slopes. Instead, the mountain itself formed spiky growths, so that, from a distance, you could mistake them for trees. A worn path snaked its way across, and I mainly kept to that, fearing what I would find if I stepped too far from it. A cliff, a monster, even a Mako pool. I knew there was some sort of spring up here, and, while curious to see it, I remembered well enough what happened to Cloud after falling into the Lifestream. I wanted my mind in good working order, thank you very much.

The wind was biting, whistling through the gaps between mountains at high speeds. There was a phrase for that I briefly remembered from my past life. The Venturi Effect. Braced between two peaks, the wind had less area to spread out over, increasing its velocity while also decreasing the pressure. A useless, but reassuring fact. Though I was in another world, one with magic and super soldiers, the basic laws of the universe still stayed the same. _Not to mention,_ I thought bitterly, _people remain the same as ever. As apt to judge and persecute as before._

Perhaps I was too harsh on them. They had treated my mother kindly, after all. She _belonged_ , was one of them, and there was something to be admired in that fiercely protective attitude. If only they could extend that same feeling to _me_. I had been coming here for two weeks now, and nothing had changed in that time.

Sighing, I blew out a breath of air, watching as the water droplets condensed into vapors, a mini-cloud forming right in front of me. Letting out another exhale, I smiled at the dissipating white fumes. There was something _godly_ about creating, even if it were just a cloud, a heady feeling of power that swept one off their feet if they let it. Not that I'd let it. I was small and weak, a four-year-old child who couldn't decide what to do with their life. I knew very well how human I was.

As the cloud faded, I could make out bright, glowing yellow slits in front of me. They blinked, and that's when I realized I was in trouble.

I froze, limbs stiffening and heart rate quickening. _THUMP-thump, THUMP-thump._ Eventually, my brain took over instincts, and I took a careful step backward, swallowing when I saw the owner of the eyes move forward, revealing a scrawny, mangy brown-furred body. A shaggy mane protected its neck, and a bushy tail ending in a point, like a longhaired cat's, whipped back and forth behind it.

I knew what this was. A Nibel wolf. One of the few creatures treated with a mixture of reverence and fear by the locals. Fenrir was honored in Nibelheim, but his descendants were nothing more than feral beasts.

I noted that its ribs jutted out against its fur; mind startlingly detached from the situation. Not a good sign. That meant it was hungry, and hungry animals were more likely to attack humans. I assumed the same could be said for monsters.

The time for caution was gone. It was going to attack either way. What I needed to do was find a way to lose it. I had wandered farther from the village than was wise, but if I could just…escape. Maybe climb a tree—no, there were no trees. Maybe—

In that instance, the wolf leapt. I rolled forward, causing it to overextend itself. My body was surprisingly flexible despite my lack of training, something I attributed to age. Still, it was strange. I hadn't thought, just did what felt natural, but rolling had been something I had learned in my past life, not this one.

Quickly rising, I started to run, a snarl from behind spurring me forward to faster speeds. Panic had shut my mind down, all my energy was redirected toward surviving. There was nothing for it but to _run_ , and keep running. Everything seemed to pass in slow motion, each footfall a resounding _thump_ as they pushed off from the ground. However, I had forgotten that I was in a child's body, with short, child legs. It wasn't too long before the wolf caught up to me, sharp claws tearing into my back.

I cried out, stumbling to the ground, scraping my hands against the hard stone ground. Despair curled in my heart. This was the end. I was going to die by a monster attack, just another child that would never make it to adulthood. Just another life lost. I bitterly regretted coming to the mountains, but nothing could be done about that.

I grit my teeth at the thought. This was _too_ unfair. Could I never get a peaceful death? Not to mention…mother would be upset. Sure, she _might_ get over it, but it would probably take her a good while. Especially right on the heels of father's death. No. I couldn't let it happen.

Flipping around, seeing the wolf lunging for my throat, I grabbed its jaws and held them at bay for one miraculous second, wincing at the drool running down my hands. Taking the opportunity for what it was, I kicked it in the throat, past the mounds of bushy hair, and heard it squeal. Seconds later, it retreated, circling me warily.

I laughed in disbelief, hands shaking, limbs trembling. Somehow I was still alive. A four-year-old child against a monster, somehow alive. A distant part of my mind told me it was adrenaline and that I'd probably faint from exhaustion soon, but I ignored that. I would use this energy while it lasted. Breaking out into another sprint, I forced my mind to _focus_ , to concentrate on a goal, a destination. That would be the only way I'd survive this.

The wolf followed, but not as eagerly as before. It seemed to be right behind me, though I knew from prior experience it could overtake me if it wished. Every so often it nipped at my ankles, and I wondered, vaguely, if they were bleeding yet. I almost tripped multiple times, though my bootlaces hadn't come undone, thankfully.

Still, even through the haze of panic, I could tell when I was being herded. Just like a sheepdog with a lamb. _Or,_ I thought, _like a wolf with prey._ They were pack animals, weren't they? If it were trying to drive me toward its pack mates, I would have no chance at _all_ of surviving this. _No howling,_ I thought. _Why isn't it howling?_ That would make more sense, wouldn't it? For it to howl, and get the attention of the other wolves? Was there something I was missing?

Either way, I needed to do something to change this situation, and fast.

Glancing around, I paled when I realized how close I was to falling off a cliff on my right side. It was…quite a long way down. If I made a single misstep, then…

Then, actually, wouldn't that be better? At least then I had _some_ chance of survival, rather than my current situation. Ninety percent chance of death was still better than ninety-nine. Though if a fall would wound me that badly, it could probably do the same for a monster too. Like a wolf. Likely, Nibel wolves were decent at climbing, but it couldn't do anything if it just…straight fell. Yeah. That was an idea.

Turning around, back to the cliff, I faced the wolf, who circled in front of me, tongue lolling. It seemed to realize I had nowhere to go, and thus was taking its time, stepping forward inch by inch. I needed to aggravate it, cause it to charge.

I knew that mentally, but actually _doing_ that was another matter. All my instincts screamed at me to just stand still and stiff, frozen like a deer in the headlights. And maybe, if it took its time, I could think of a better solution? Or maybe if I just sat back and took my death like an adult, one who had already experienced it, I wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore. Not my mother, not Nibelheim, not the fate of the world. There would be no obligations tying me down anymore. Or, well, I'd reincarnate as a worm.

I glanced at the sharp, yellowed teeth of the wolf, and gulped. No, when it came down to it. I was a coward. Too cowardly to live, too cowardly to die. I was _afraid_ of feeling pain, of feeling that familiar blackness that came before death. I had experienced it once, and I didn't want to experience it again.

This only reinforced what I knew already about myself. I wasn't a hero. There was nothing noble in my wanting to live.

I opened my mouth, and what came out, rather than a shout, was a high-pitched squeak. Clearing my throat, I tried again. "Come and get me!" the noise, if not the words, seemed to do it. The wolf took a running leap, and instead of rolling forward, I advanced a few cringing steps and arched my back, bracing myself for tearing pain. It didn't come; rather a soft sensation like fur caressed my hunched shoulders. Instinctively, I straightened up with a _snap_ , and whipped my head back for good measure. The force wasn't enough to cause the wolf to fall. I wasn't nearly strong enough for that. However, it _was_ enough to cause it to lose its footing, paws skidding across the ground. A thought came to me, one wild, delirious thought, and I lifted a boot and stomped down on a single paw with all the strength I could muster. Yipping, the wolf raised said paw automatically, the careful equilibrium it had maintained lost in that one action. I took in a deep breath and surged forward, arms flung forward, pushing the bony flank in front of me. The next second, it was tumbling down the mountain.

I glanced down, eyes following its descent, heart thumping with adrenaline and even a little bit of hope. It might not die just from falling, though. I couldn't let down my guard. Nibel wolves, actually, all of the monsters of this world, were unknown variables. I wouldn't be surprised at all if they had adapted to climb steep mountain slopes, and in fact, it looked to be attempting to do so, paws scrabbling for a grip on the craggy gray sides, but, whether by luck or by its own inability, it couldn't gain a foothold, and I watched until it grew swallowed by the mists that wreathed the mountains. Only then was I satisfied it wasn't coming back.

It was gone. I was…safe.

It was as if a switch had turned off in my brain. I collapsed to the ground soon after, trembling like a newborn fawn. I…had almost _died_. Again. _Actually, you might_ still _die,_ the thought came unbidden, but it was true. I needed to keep moving, until I actually reached home. The cold air stung the wounds on my back, and the smell of blood would probably draw monsters. So, no matter how much I wanted to just fall asleep right then and there, I picked myself up and staggered back to the path.

I fell down multiple times until I resorted to dragging my exhausted self down the mountain, leaving a bloody smear in my wake. A part of me realized that that wasn't good, that it was leaving an open trail for monsters, but another part of me just couldn't give two fucks. I could try cleaning it _later_. Right now, I just needed to get home. To make it back. Alive.

 _Please, please let me make it home,_ I prayed for the umpteenth time after the umpteenth fall. I rose shakily, my body screaming at me to just _lie down_ , but I couldn't. I had to keep moving. I had to. Moving was living. Sleep was like a siren's call, but I knew, I just knew, if I lay down now, I would never get back up. My last living memory would be of pain, of a monster ripping through my flesh in preparation to eat me. No. I _had_ to keep moving.

Eventually, I spotted the familiar rooftop of the Shinra manor. Heart speeding up in anticipation, I increased my slow crawl to a faster one. I had left for the mountain at noon, but it was already late evening by the time I dragged myself through the square, all the way up to my front door. I twisted the knob shakily, shutting the door behind me with a trembling arm before collapsing onto a familiar woolen rug, letting myself breathe in the familiar air of home with a mixture of relief and bitterness. I made it home, which meant I was alive, but my heart tightened at the thought that it would never be truly the warm place it used to be, filled with laughter and two gentle pairs of hands, two sets of voices, two sets of footsteps, one heavier than the other.

I barely heard a woman's—my mother—worried gasp, barely felt soft hands tracing over my back. There was a buzzing in my ears, and my eyelids couldn't stay open anymore. I blacked out with two thoughts ringing through my head like a psalm. _I made it back. I'm safe._

* * *

I really have no excuse for this lateness. *performs a dogeza*

I guess really, all I can say is that...FFN lost priority for me. Real life, and other stuff took precedence over this site and this story.

Not to mention that this chapter was a tough one. I _did_ have it all written up, but I ended up rewriting it twice, unhappy with the direction I was taking it each time. It was either too dramatic, or too flippant. This, the third version, is my favorite, and probably the one that makes most sense, given Cloud's character. I also struggled with how the villagers of Nibelheim would react to all of this, but, remembering Cloud's flashbacks in the video game, I realized he hadn't been particularly liked by anybody except his mother. Unfortunately, the most likely reaction would be to prioritize the life of the village (getting Skye to remarry as soon as possible), and try and stamp out any remaining signs of Shinra, such as Cloud.

Speaking of Shinra, it really bugs me having to decide between blue suits and black suits for Turks. The nostalgic original FFVII part of me wants me to go with blue, but literally every other game has them in black, sooo...yeah.

Also, it's very unlikely that a four-year-old child would survive against a full-grown wolf, but remember that Cloud is no ordinary four year old. He has memories of a past life with some martial arts experience, and the wolf was weak and starving. Also, literally the only reason he's still living is luck and circumstance. If he hadn't happened to be next to a cliff, if the wolf hadn't tried to herd him rather than kill him outright, he would've died, no question about it.

Random thought, but Cloud constantly going, "mother, mother" reminds me unpleasantly of Sephiroth. Hopefully he doesn't end up anything like him...

I'm not going to say when I'll update next, as that seems to jinx me. However, I will still be working on this story, even if it takes me forever.

Edit: Edited the last part of this chapter after rereading it. It can be easy to fall into the "tell, not show" trap. Also reminds me that I should make more of an attempt to edit before posting a chapter all excited. ^^;


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